


Shadows of Self

by Bookofmirth (ABookAndACoffee)



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: A Court of Frost and Starlight Spoilers, ACOFAS spoilers, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-05-02 09:02:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14541309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ABookAndACoffee/pseuds/Bookofmirth
Summary: Cassian goes to visit Nesta in Velaris, and she is less than welcoming."Somehow, the room had grown dark without Nesta having noticed.It had probably happened in the way that life seemed to pass by, now. Without fanfare, against her will. One moment, Nesta had felt the morning sun on her face, hard, bright, obscuring nearly everything in the room. She settled herself back into her chair, straight-backed, blinking away the memories. The next, she was enveloped by the dark."





	Shadows of Self

Somehow, the room had grown dark without Nesta having noticed. 

It had probably happened in the way that life seemed to pass by, now. Without fanfare, against her will. One moment, Nesta had felt the morning sun on her face, hard, bright, obscuring nearly everything in the room. She settled herself back into her chair, straight-backed, blinking away the memories. The next, she was enveloped by the dark. 

She’d never thought she would find comfort there, in the black. But then, Nesta had never counted on most of the details of her current life. 

Without looking, Nesta reached over to the table on which she had placed a bottle of whiskey. Her hand moved mechanically, fingers grasping the neck of the bottle, guiding it to the tumbler she held in her other hand, flinching slightly when she heard the grating of glass on glass. She poured, but nothing came out. When had she emptied the bottle? It didn’t matter. There was more where that came from. 

Cheap, fast, easy. It was the way she preferred most things, those days. It was the only way to make sure that she would never lack. 

Nesta stood with a sigh, going to find more. Always more. The idea of stopping was enough to catch her breath, to allow that old familiar fear to creep back in. She nudged a fallen pillow out of her path with her foot and headed to the kitchen. Nesta filled her glass again. She’d stopped counting how many she’d had. She wasn’t sure if it was a victory, if it meant that she had succeeded in not caring, or she was ashamed. 

The knock that came at her door was hesitant, as if the visitor was either unsure of their location, or the state of the occupant inside. It was perhaps the man who had spent the night before. Maybe he left something behind. Certainly he had lost a bit of his dignity last night, when he had thrust inside of her and she had laughed, laughed at his need. 

Nesta pressed her palm to the door for a moment before twisting the first lock. She paused, waiting for the interloper to leave. She heard a breath. Twisted the bolt of the next lock. No footsteps walked away from her door. Persistent. He must have left something important, then. Nesta turned the third lock, and her expression found its usual hard quality. It was a new one that she had adopted, an iron curtain that guarded nothing. 

Nesta’s hand fell to the final metal bolt and she pulled the door open so quickly that the air pushed the hair from her shoulders. 

Cassian was a mass of muscle, intimidating under normal circumstances, but doing his best to make his presence inconspicuous on her isolated street. If she’d had the energy, Nesta would have told him not to bother. Her neighbors had long ago stopped watching out of their windows, since it was clear that Nesta didn’t care what they saw, what they knew. 

Cassian stood with feet planted in a wide stance, hands clasped together. 

“Hello, Nesta,” he said. 

She raised her glass in a mix between a toast and a greeting, and took a drink. “Hello.” 

“Can I come in?” 

Nesta shrugged with one shoulder, the liquid and ice in her glass sloshing around and teetering on the brink of escape. She saw Cassian look from the glass to her face, brows knitted in concern. 

Yes, I know it is going to spill, she thought. 

No, I don’t care, she wanted to say. 

Instead she sighed, turning from the door and walking back into the dark. 

Cassian followed, shutting the door behind him. He pulled on the chain of a lamp in a corner near the entrance. It cast a pathetic light into the room, and Nesta realized just how dark she had allowed the place to become. 

Cassian glanced around the room to find a place to sit. Every available surface save one - where she must have been sitting - was covered in laundry or books or blankets that made it look as if the couch was also her bed. 

Nesta watched Cassian resign himself to the fact that he would not be asked to sit and make himself comfortable, and sat back down in her chair. “Why are you here?” 

Leaning one elbow on a bookshelf as if that’s where he meant to get comfortable, as if it wasn’t the only way he knew how to act casual, Cassian spoke. “I just wanted to see how you are.” 

Nesta took another drink, down to the dregs of the glass. It was watered down, more melted ice than liquor, and she grimaced. She’d forgotten to keep it fresh, keep the ice frozen. Sometimes her powers weren’t even useful in that. Her mind immediately went to where she had left the bottle. 

Cassian’s eyes followed Nesta’s to the kitchen. Without a word, he walked away, returning with the bottle, which he handed her, and she took without thanks. 

Nesta poured another glass and downed it. She could practically see the quip on Cassian’s lips - _why don’t you just drink from the bottle, Nesta? Why bother on my account?_ She became unbearably, unspeakably angry that the Cassian in her head might judge her. 

“You could have asked Feyre,” Nesta said. “She was just here last week. Paying my rent.” She smiled, and it was cruel. 

“Did you know that Feyre took care of your father?” His voice caught on those words - _your father_ \- as if there was any other way to say it. 

“Yes.” So that’s why he was there. He thought she needed tending to, that her poor, fragile heart might bleed for the man who had the audacity to name a ship for her, as if he had anything to do with any bit of happiness in her life. 

“Do you want me to go with you?” 

“Who says I need to go?” Nesta shifted forward in her seat and set the bottle on the ground. She looked up at Cassian, challenging. 

“It would be normal, if you wanted to go and see him. I could be your friend, Nesta.” 

Nesta couldn’t keep the sneer off her face, even as she wondered if it were her fault or the liquor’s. It was quite easy to blame every bad decision, every emotional confession, every time she stuck the knife in and twisted it deeper into her own soul, on that drink. The moment she didn’t have it was the moment that she would have to face what she had seen, what she had become. 

Her days passed like this: Nesta woke, ate to fill the hole in her stomach, and then counted the hours until she could drink. If it was before noon, the ticking of her clock haunted her. She had restraint, after all, even if every moment she wasn’t drinking was a moment she spent thinking about when she would have that first one of the day. 

Nesta spent that time wandering, finding a new place to spend her evening. It would hardly do if she became a regular anywhere. Then she might develop relationships with the other regulars, might run into someone who had already shared her bed. 

Nesta couldn’t stomach the thought of seeing any of them again, not when they had seen her at her worst. 

“I don’t need friends.” 

“So who are your visitors, then?” Cassian raised an eyebrow. 

Nesta laughed. “Well-wishers. They are more than happy to pay their respects. Everyone knows what I did to stop the King of Hybern.” 

“You mean what Elain did. What Elain, and Feyre, and you did.” 

Bastard. He was an insufferable bastard, reminding her of the moment she had watched her sister take a life. Dear Elain, who would stumble on the sidewalk to avoid crushing an insect. They had done it fighting in Feyre’s war, and what had it gotten them? 

Nesta gestured vaguely around the room, the ice crashing against the sides of her empty glass. “No one ever turns me down. Night after night, I hardly know what to do with all of my fans.” 

Cassian flinched, and Nesta bit the end of her tongue to keep herself from showing a hint of remorse. 

Nesta stood, and her head swam. It was the drink. She couldn’t help what she said now, but maybe in the morning when she couldn’t remember, it wouldn’t matter. Cassian would know that it wasn’t her fault, he had watched her drink, surely he would know that she might be self-righteous now, but she only meant part of it. The part that hurt no one but herself. 

“Cassian.” 

He pushed himself upright, away from the bookshelf. “Nesta?” 

There was hope in Cassian’s eyes, and Nesta knew she would let him down. She knew it as well as she knew that the minute he left, she would go find a new bar where no one knew who she was, drag someone else home who had no idea just how cruel she could be, just how unsmiling and worthless. And the best part was that they wouldn’t care. 

Nesta leaned forward and grabbed the bottle from the floor, poured another drink, watched Cassian over the rim of the glass as she finished it, daring him to stop her. 

“Tell Feyre I’ll see her when the rent is due again.” 

“And Elain,” Cassian asked, “What should I tell her?” 

“Leave her out of this,” Nesta snapped. She rubbed her temples, the beginnings of a headache coming. 

“She goes to see him every month. You might run into her there, if you wanted to. I could tell you when she’ll be there. It would just be the two of you.” 

Nesta didn’t understand how Cassian could stand there, looking at her with hope when every experience she’d had taught her it was useless. There was no point in saving the human lands if Elain couldn’t be with Graysen, if Nesta couldn’t tell her father one last time just how much he had let her down, if it meant that Nesta was still stuck here, in this body. 

“Get out.” Nesta’s words were flat. 

Cassian nodded and turned towards the door. He opened it, paused in the doorframe, glancing around the room once more in disappointment. 

Nesta let him leave, close the door behind him, and counted the minutes until she could sleep.


End file.
